


Speak No Evil

by rightsidethru



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Body Language, Gen, They Move As One, Together in Death, don't say a word, hush little baby, together from birth, triplets fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightsidethru/pseuds/rightsidethru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They do not speak, and they move through the world in a bubble of silence. Quiet. But, for them, a glance or a touch spoke more than words were ever capable of conveying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak No Evil

_Hush, little baby, don't say a word,  
Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird._

They move through a world of silence.

They do not speak because they have no tongues.

The communicate with gestures and glances, eyes catching one another's as secret, subtle codes flicker amongst the three of them. They do not speak because they do not have to: what need is there when one glance will convey an entire conversation's worth of words? They do not speak because they do not have to: they are connected to one another, three parts of one whole. Each can anticipate the other, and they work together flawlessly. They do not speak because they know that, when in battle, if Timber is pushed away, Canterbury must lunge forward to take his place while Thompson once more comes in from the side to distract their opponent.

They do not speak because they do not have to: all that matters is survival, and words are unnecessary when instinct takes over and a single, slight twitch of a finger is louder than a scream that begs, Please help me!

They move through a world of silence.

They do not speak because they have no tongues.

Words are unnecessary because they have gone beyond them.

_If that mockingbird don't sing,  
Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring._

Hannah had claimed them for herself.

They were huddled in on one another, too thin arms wrapped tight around each other—brother clinging to brother as they bowed their heads beneath the rain. They had been chased from the Welsh village, the priest that belonged to the community screaming passages from the Bible at them.

They were hungry.

They had not fed in years.

They were demon children, eerie and too-strange for even their own people. Their mother had sent them out into the world at a age where others still clung to their mothers' aprons, greedy and mean and the pride of their parents. But they had none of that.

They had each other, and they had their own way of speaking with one another.

Each brother's fingers wrapped tight around another's, and when Hannah stepped into the entrance of the cave, the three lifted their heads at the same time to pierce her with similar, assessing gazes. She stared back, eyes dark and unreadable beneath her silvery hair—and she waited through their decision, standing indolently on the borderline between "outside" and "inside."

They weighed, they judged, they spoke to one another in sidelong glances and quick tightening of their hands. All the while, the sound of the rain came down outside and the flashes of lightning framed the voluptuous demon that waited for their decision.

As one, they stood and made their way towards the woman.

_If that diamond ring turns brass,  
Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass._

Combing Hannah's hair was a chore that each brother enjoyed.

Her eyes would close, not in fear as with everyone else, but in contentedness as Thompson or Timber or Canterbury slowly ran the brush through her long, silky hair. Sometimes, when they were still young enough to not know better, they would run their fingers through it—petting Hannah's hair and burying their faces in it. In a way, it was their security blanket: this woman who had come to them, rescued them and brought them somewhere safe.

They ate.

Their stomachs never growled from hunger.

They were grateful for that, but even more so for the fact that she didn't mind their silence; while they spoke to each other in their own private tongue, she would sit just as quietly—watching them with eyes that were bemused, slightly curiously, but always heavy-lidded. She was bored, they knew, and that was the original reason why she had taken them: because they were something new, something interesting, and they would be able to stave off the boredom for just a bit longer.

So they did little things for her in thanks, hoping to perhaps encourage her to keep them.

Helping her don her clothes, combing her long hair, painting her fingernails and keeping the edges sharp and precise. They cared for her and, because she kept them longer than she had originally expected, they returned her kindness in other ways.

She was the living sheath for Leviathan, and they watched with quiet, blank eyes when one demon or another would come to claim her so that they might use the legendary weapon. They looked away when she wished it, not wanting them to see the way that the others violated her—seeing her as nothing more as a tool for something bigger, something greater.

They were there to sharpen her weapons when Hannah no longer was willing to submit so easily, when she required that others fight her for the use of Leviathan. They were there to take away the bodies that she mutilated for years of being seen as nothing more than a conduit: the fleshy exterior that housed the true power within.

They were there the first time Hannah beheaded a demon with the same weapon that it had come to claim, and they were there to glance at one another and smile with their eyes.

_If that looking glass gets broke,  
Mama's gonna buy you a billy goat._

When they had still been little enough for the gesture to be acceptable, they sometimes curled up in Hannah's bed, little hands clutching tightly at her strands of hair as they pillowed themselves on each other and on her. They never slept—there was no need—but they, the four of them, would pass the hours of darkness with Hannah softly singing to them in her crooning, sweet voice.

She would sing them Welsh lullabies, murmuring promises of mothers holding their children tight all through the night. They knew, though, that those promises were lies because, after all, their own mother had abandoned them early on in their lives. That was acceptable, however, because now they had Hannah.

They cuddled closer to the woman, eyes closed and pretending to sleep.

But all three remained awake from dusk until dawn, and Hannah knew it.

She never let them know that she realized that none of the three were asleep and dreaming, instead leaving them to their pretend and the comfort that they gathered from it. In response, her voice never stopped singing until the light from dawn finally eased its way into the crack of the bedroom's curtains to fall upon the bed's occupants. It was only then that she would finally quiet and they, in turn, would open their eyes simultaneously and glance up at her.

Always, always at her.

_If that billy goat won't pull,  
Mama's gonna buy you a cart and bull._

They knew that she was growing bored.

It had been centuries since a demon had last come to challenge her for the sword and, by this point, most now believed that Leviathan had been lost to time. They left her be and she, in turn, retreated away into isolation—side-stepping from the world so that she might continue to observe but never be required to interact with another.

She stopped caring about humans' souls. She never ate, easily sustaining herself with the power that the legendary sword gave to her. She did small things and the brothers, in turn, offered up little distractions—idle entertainments that would distract Hannah long enough to bring a smile to her face. It never mattered to them that the smile was always now brief: there for a moment before flickering away.

They were content with getting her to smile in the first place.

The years passed in such a way: years moving into decades and decades moving into centuries. Though feeling dull with very little to do, the triplets were still also content with the fact that Hannah had let them remain at her side as she left the business of the main world behind. They dedicated themselves to her, doing what they could.

The small, petty chores never mattered.

Time passed in idle movement, in the sluggish sleepiness of a warm summer afternoon where the only thing that mattered was for one to curl up in the heat and nap away the time. It made one drowsy, almost stupid with a cat-like satisfaction with the world. It was like that for the brothers, though Hannah still remained tense in expectation for something to change.

That was when Luka came to her.

_If that cart and bull turn over,  
Mama's gonna buy you a dog named Rover._

They never liked Claude.

He had a gaze that mirrored those of the demons who had come before, the ones that had demanded that Hannah follow them—yielding Leviathan to them whenever they would wish. The spider demon looked at the four of them and, instead of individuals, saw them as tools that he could use to advantage in his own agenda.

His eyes were cold, always cold.

He looked at the world through the assessing gaze of a predator, a spider just waiting patiently enough for its next meals; he looked at his own contractor in the same way, though the blonde human tried his best to get the demon to look at him in something other than puzzled disdain, the contempt that would flavor each word as he would speak of turning sugar into salt.

The boy never heard the emotions but the triplets, so attuned to the very nuances of communication, heard it as if Claude were screaming aloud of his hate. It echoed through the manor, and the triplets always kept their gazes lowered when they came across him without Hannah at their side.

Cold, cold, cold.

The spider demon froze the manor into an Arctic tundra with his very presence.

It was then that they once more began to crawl into Hannah's bed at night, though they were truthfully far too old to do such a thing. They would curl up around her, one brother on each of her shoulders while the third snuggled in against another's back and slipped his arm around her waist.

She protected them. And they protected her.

All through the night, they would carefully, meticulously comb through Hannah's hair, separating each silky strand and ensuring that, by morning, it shone like molten silver. They huddled about her, hands always touching—reassuring themselves of her presence and the knowledge that she would always be there for them.

Sometimes, too, Hannah sang to them.

But she no longer sang the lullabies that they remembered.

_If that dog named Rover won't bark,  
Mama's gonna buy you a horse and cart._

They never understood why it was that Hannah knelt before Alois and let him take her eye, ruining the soft gaze that had turned from them to the human boy. All three flinched, each tempted to go forward to help the woman as blood began to drip down her cheek, falling droplet by droplet from the edge of her jawline.

She never cried out, and that made it worse.

Each brother fidgeted, wanting nothing more than to step forward and force Alois to stop. It didn't matter if Claude would punish them in turn—Hannah was, in the end, far stronger than the spider demon. She would ensure that they stayed safe and, as a result, they would be able to ensure that she stayed safe in turn.

Each wanted to break the blonde's fingers, the ones that were digging into Hannah's eye socket.

But they stayed standing, unhappy about it and glancing away to keep their own pain at bay; and yet, when Claude finally entered into the dining room and coaxed Alois into letting Hannah go, they each surged forward as one entity, reaching down and keeping the woman close and protected in their arms as they carried her off so that they could tend to her in private.

The blood caused her hair to stick to her skin in wet, tangled strands—and the brothers were careful to pull them away from her wound, cleaning it and bandaging it with silent, adoring care as the others cleaned the mess from the silver silk of her hair, combing the soft strands to once more pull it away from her face in the style that she usually preferred.

They hovered around her, lightly, gently touching.

Their fingers caressed over Hannah, and her single eye closed as she basked in the attention and the concern that the triplets offered to her; they were hers: they were dedicated to her alone, and each touch told a tale that had taken her centuries to learn.

"It won't happen again," she promised aloud—and in their own language as her fingers tightened around their own in reply. She smiled up at them before easing down, their hands carefully supporting her and tucking her into the bed. While she rested, the triplets went out to cover her duties so that Claude and Alois would both leave her be.

_If that horse and cart fall down,  
You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town._

They knew that they were going to die.

When their orders had been said, the three glanced from one to another, lashes lowering or flickering depending on what was meant to be said. They paused briefly as they made their way out to confront the raven, eyes lingering on Hannah though the higher level demon thought that it was on his contractor, his Bocchan.

They knew that they were going to die, but their deaths were because Hannah needed the time to keep the other's contractor safe, to awaken the soul of her own precious Alois, the Danna-sama that she loved before all else. It hurt, though none of the brothers ever acknowledged that particular pain—but Hannah needed their deaths so that she could once more be with the one that she loved.

And that was acceptable.

However…

How to say that you were afraid if no one else except those that had always been with you could understand the words—the not-words—that you speak? Always together, they knew that this would remain the same even in death.

Their shoulders brushed, touches comforting as they made their way soundlessly towards where the raven awaited them. Moving from branch to branch, they were blurs to most eyes—but they danced amongst the leaves, steps forever changing, one taking the lead for a brief time before switching it over to another brother.

They danced in the past, they fought in the present, they were fated to lose.

Born together, dying together: an eternity of entwined fates, of silences that were actually filled with words—a language that no one but them had ever been able to comprehend, which tightened them further into their own special world where a touch on the back of a hand had the possibility of meaning so very much.

Always, they would be together.

Just as they always had been.

_So hush little baby don't you cry,  
'Cause Daddy loves you and so do I._

**Author's Note:**

> …wanted to attempt something rather challenging, so I decided to try my hand at writing a piece for the triplets.


End file.
